


Opening Night

by choriarty



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: College AU, College Theatre AU, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Admirer, to be precise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choriarty/pseuds/choriarty
Summary: Zenyatta's performances in his college's theatre department have earned him some fans-- one fan in particular. Gifts of flowers and chocolates keep showing up from a 'secret admirer', but Zenyatta finds it hard to appreciate them when he has his eyes on someone else...





	Opening Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grovey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovey/gifts).



> This was a $40 commission for Grovey! Go check out their fic, [Mind, Body, and Soul](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10067147/chapters/22433117) and their [twitter!](https://twitter.com/7GROVEYS)

“You were amazing today!”

Zenyatta smiled as he put his stave away on the props rack, his cheeks flushed underneath his white makeup. “Thank you, Winston. You were wonderful today as well. Where was your staff?”

Winston rubbed the back of his neck. “The props head took it back for last minute modifications.”

“Do you know what for?”

“I heard that the director wanted it to be even fancier than it already is, but I don't know how they're going to pull that off.”

“Hopefully they - -” Zenyatta stopped in his tracks. 

In the dressing room, there on his table, was a large bouquet of flowers. 

“Why did you stop…? Oh!” Winston gasped when he turned the corner. “That bouquet is huge! It must be bigger than my head!”

Zenyatta cautiously, like it might jump out at him, approached the flowers. When he picked them up he was forced to almost hug the thing or risk it falling. Like this the soft petals tickled his nose. Large, hot pink lilies stuck out against the red and pink roses, all of their scents mixing into a perfume that could have rivaled ambrosia. 

“There’s a note,” Winston pointed out. He picked up the small white card from the desk and read it aloud, “‘From: Your Secret Admirer’ You have a secret admirer?!”

Just as Zenyatta opened his mouth to respond, the dressing room door banged against the wall as it was thrown open. Winston yelped and jumped a few inches into the air (Zenyatta was used to such entrances).

“You found it?!” Hana said enthusiastically. She still wore half of her Chang’e costume. “I saw it earlier when you were rehearsing, this is the fourth time this week!”

“Did you see who left it?” Zenyatta asked.

Hana sighed, “No, sorry. I think everyone was onstage when they left it.”

“Oh!” Winston gasped. “Is this the same person who left you chocolates?”

“I think so,” Zenyatta said.

“And you still don’t know who it is?”

“They have left no clues for me to find.”

Hana put her hands on her hips. “Tomorrow is opening night, that’s probably why they sent a bouquet bigger than usual.”

“Do you think that they’ll reveal themselves tomorrow?” Winston asked.

“That would be sooo romantic!!!” Hana clapped her hands together.

But while his friends laughed and celebrated for him, Zenyatta only looked upon the beautiful flowers with melancholy. 

There was a knock on the door. “Hey! The crew need to go home too! Finish up changing!” came a voice from outside.

“Pfft, fine,” Hana scoffed. “Keep us updated, Zen! I wanna know what happens.”

“I will try,” Zenyatta called after them when they left. Then he was left alone. Alone in his dressing room with no one but himself and at least thirty flowers.

 

“They finally let you go?” Genji asked. He leaned against the wall in the theatre department hallway right next to the billboard, his phone in his hand and backpack on the floor. “That took forever! It’s almost dinner time.”

“Yes, I am a free man,” Zenyatta said. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long, I didn’t expect it to go this late either.”

Genji scoffed. “You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to wait. Besides, I’m pretty sure that your neighbour thinks I’m breaking in whenever I use your spare key.”

“Perhaps if you spoke to her, she would realize that you are harmless.”

“No! She’s scary. I’d rather just walk with you.”

Zenyatta smiled warmly. “I suppose I am lucky then,” he meant to say, but he did not. Instead he chuckled in agreement and kept silent. 

Zenyatta may have been confidant under the lights, but he had terrible stage fright when it came to his feelings for Genji. 

“I received another gift,” he said. 

“From that secret admirer of yours?” Genji asked. “What was it this time?”

“A large bouquet of flowers.”

“Ooh how romantic. Why don't you have it?”

“I put them in a vase in my dressing room,” Zenyatta said. “They look better there.”

There was an out of character pause. Zenyatta turned to look at his friend, but did not recognize the expression he wore. Had he said something wrong? Was Genji okay? 

“Hey,” Genji said in a subdued tone. “What do you think about them? These gifts, I mean. It's been happening for a few months now and you haven't really done anything about it.”

Was Genji worried about the gifts? Why would he be? Perhaps he thought that they made Zenyatta uncomfortable. 

“I'm… not too sure, to be honest,” he admitted. “I do not know this person. They have never left me with knowledge of who they are and what they are like. The only thing I know about them is that they know I'm in theatre, and that they buy many flowers and chocolates. What if we are completely different? How would I know that we are compatible?”

Genji frowned. “Does this thing make you uncomfortable, then?”

“No,” said Zenyatta. “It's… sweet. The flowers are very nice gestures. I only wish I knew more about them.”

There was a kind of determination in Genji’s eyes when he nodded. Zenyatta is wondered if Genji was going to track his ‘secret admirer’ down himself and give them a lecture. The idea filled him with warmth and affection. 

Even though Zenyatta had lied to Genji. 

He did not care about the chocolates or flowers, and he felt nothing for the notes left behind. All of them were thoughtful gifts and he appreciated each one - - 

But if they were not from Genji, Zenyatta did not care. 

There was a small part of him that hoped his admirer would never reveal themselves and confess their undying love for him. Zenyatta did not want to have to reject them and break their heart after all of the wonderful gifts they had left for him. He had even considered several times whether or not to leave his own note for them, warning them that he already had his heart set on someone else.

Zenyatta glanced at Genji, who was staring up at the sky as they walked together. Both hands were stuffed into his pockets and his light backpack hung lazing from his shoulders. Zenyatta’s gaze was drawn (pulled) to his eyes, and he was hypnotized by how the sun shone light into Genji’s dark brown irises. It was almost as if he belonged here, under the sun. The way it made his green hair glow, the way it caressed his skin, the way it made his eyes sparkle. Zenyatta was struck with a memory-- of reading Greek literature and learning of Apollo and his halo of light.

It was foolish to get his hopes up, this Zenyatta knew.

But still he hoped.

Even after the conversation was over, he hoped. After they had finally arrived at his apartment, he hoped. Late into the night, when the clocks had been forgotten and time had no meaning, when Genji yawned and Zenyatta offered a place to sleep; he hoped.

 

“Places in five minutes!” called the stage manager.

“Thank you!” came a chorus of actors.

Zenyatta resumed his stretches before the show. Bending at the hips and touching his long fingers to his toes, pointing to the sky and feeling his back pop. He knew all of his lines and had memorized the blocking a month ago; he was as ready as he was ever going to be. 

“Hey, Zen!” Hana popped her head into the green room. “You got another gift!”

“A gift?” he echoed. “Do you mean from my…?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you sure? They always leave things after the show, never before.”

“Unless you have more than one, I’m pretty sure it’s them,” Hana grinned. “You better check it out before the show starts; they left a letter this time.”

She laughed and called a ‘good luck’ after him as Zenyatta rushed past her. There-- inside his dressing room, on his desk-- a single red rose and stark white envelope. Before he knew it, Zenyatta was already there and opening up the letter as carefully as he could while still being fast. Only Zenyatta’s name was on the outside and the note inside did not have the sender’s name.

> _Zenyatta,_
> 
> _Congrats on getting to opening night. I can’t wait to see you on stage under the lights. You always look so beautiful up there, I’m always struck speechless by your performances. The way you smile, your booming laugh, it fills the auditorium and my heart both. I can see it in the way you move, the way you breathe, that you belong up there. I see your eyes and know how much you love it. Just being within seeing distance of such love paralyzes me._
> 
> _You’ve worked so hard this semester, I know that you’ll do amazing. I’m so proud of you and how far you’ve come. I admire you. You inspire me everyday to be a better person than the day before. I wish you could see it-- see yourself through my eyes. The way that you glow with happiness and tranquility, the way your body makes me want, the way your smile makes me die a thousand little deaths and gives me life at the same time._
> 
> _I’ll be cheering you on from the best seat in the house. I know you can do it._
> 
> _Your Secret Admirer_

Zenyatta scanned over the note-- scanned over it a second time-- a third time. He could feel his chest tighten and his heart beat faster just from a few words. The note was romantic and sweet and… personal. Too personal to be a stranger or a fan. Zenyatta had expected waxing poetry about how attractive they found him… but not this. There must have been some clue-- any clue at all as to whom it may be--

“Places!”

He jumped what felt like a foot in the air. There was no more time to scour for clues. Hesitantly he put the letter back on his desk, his eyes lingering from the doorway when he left.

_I’ll be cheering you on from the best seat in the house. I know you can do it._

Where was the best seat in the house?

Everyone had a different answer. Some said the front, where the actors could be seen up close. Some said the back, where the entire picture could be seen. Zenyatta’s favourite seat was in the stage itself. What seat did Zenyatta’s admirer prefer? 

He could hear the director at the front of the stage speaking to the audience and hoping over the theatre rules. Now was not the time for emotional dilemmas-- they had a show to put on. 

(But when the curtains opened and the lights turned on, Zenyatta may have watched the audience closer than usual. He may have looked for people he knew, people he had seen before, perhaps even strangers he had passed in the hall. None in the audience fit the description. None were staring at Zenyatta himself for a second too long. They were in all definitions the perfect audience.)

In what most have been the blink of an eye, intermission was already upon them. The curtains closed on Zenyatta and his friends as loud clapping and conversation filled the auditorium. As soon as the tiniest crack of light from outside was gone he broke tableau. Everyone gave each other excited thumbs up and whispered Cheers as they filed into the green room. 

Zenyatta watched Wilhelm slap Winston on the back, Mei get pulled away by the costumes head Satya, Jamison from props swarm Mako. It seemed like everyone was full of energy and enthusiasm for the show. 

What was he doing?

Zenyatta did not have time to daydream about such things. There was a show to put on-- for five days in a row, no less. He did not know this ‘secret admirer’ at all and did not owe them anything. Besides, they had decided to remain anonymous, if Zenyatta did not find them in the audience tonight it was probable that they would not mind. It was a likely possibility that Zenyatta was misinterpreting these gifts and notes for something romantic when truly it was out of admiration. Maybe it was even a practical joke. He sighed and shook himself loose. 

When Zenyatta turned towards the exit, Genji was there.

His bright green hair stood out in the darkness of the backstage area as he leaned against the doorway. He had his signature smile-- the one that flashed his white teeth and pushed his eyes into slits. Genji was waving him over.

Something clicked.

“What are you doing here?” Zenyatta whispered.

“What do you mean? I’m here to see your show,” Genji raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I be?”

“The audience, perhaps,” Zenyatta said.

Genji rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I might have been a bit too late to get tickets for opening night… But I bought them for every other night! Besides, I’m basically a part of the crew with how much time I spend hanging around. They let me in without batting an eye.”

“So you are planning on acting like a stagehand, but not doing any work?” Zenyatta teased.

“No! No, I can do work. I’ll be the motivator. Go team go!”

Zenyatta held back his laughter and put his hand over Genji’s mouth. “Alright! I understand-- please stop being loud.”

When Zenyatta pulled away he expected a sharp retort or a scathing comeback… but Genji said nothing. In fact, he seemed to be a bit distracted.

“You, uh, look great tonight. I haven’t seen you in full costume until now and it’s-- good. It’s perfect. You do your makeup by yourself, right?”

“Yes, I do…”

“You did a really good job. Plus you’ve got that fighting scene down pat, I almost forgot it was choreographed; I don’t think I’d be able to swing around such a large staff like that.”

Genji reached out as if he was going to touch the makeup on Zenyatta’s face-- as if he were to drag his thumb along the red paint on his lips-- but he stopped at the last second and pulled back. It was difficult to see with all of the lights off, but Zenyatta could swear that his friend was flushed.

_It was foolish to get his hopes up, this Zenyatta knew._

_But still he--_

“Are you alright, Genji? You’re acting strange.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m just… distracted. Dunno why…”

Zenyatta opened his mouth but before he could get a single word out a voice called from the green room, calling all cast members. He glanced behind Genji and then back to him. Genji shrugged. “You should go, I don’t wanna get you in trouble on opening night by distracting you. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

And Genji kept his word.

With every glance, with every scene change, Genji was there. Sometimes he would be talking with the stage manager, sometimes he would be watching the stage, sometimes their eyes would meet and Genji would smile and wave.

_I’ll be cheering you on from the best seat in the house._

Where would the best seat in the house be?

Would it be in front? Middle? Back?

Would it be just behind the curtains, where the action was directly in their face? Would it be near the actors? Would it be close enough to see Zenyatta’s face and smile and wave when he was off stage? Would it be where the secret admirer could be closest to the object of their affections?

Zenyatta almost vibrated with the new realization as he held hands with his fellow performers and took a bow. His hands were shaking, his knees were weak. In a trance, he made a bee-line to the exit where Genji stood. He was smiling and clapping louder than the entire crowd outside and shone like the sun itself had come to watch his show.

Without a word Zenyatta grabbed Genji’s wrist and pulled him along. Pulled him through the green room, through the costumes area, into Zenyatta’s private dressing room. The letter and single rose still sat on his desk, untouched since he had last seen it.

He closed the door behind them.

“Could you help me get out of my costume, Genji?” Zenyatta asked, his voice sounding more put together than he was in reality.

“U-Uh, sure,” Genji said. He was obviously confused as to why his friend had dragged him here.

Four layers of heavy robes later, Zenyatta finally felt like he could breathe. He took a deep breath and tried not to grip or play with his tank top nervously. No. He would not back out. He was sure that he knew the answer.

“Genji…” Zenyatta murmured, slowly taking his friend’s hands. Genji held him back without hesitation. “I have something important to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Zen,” Genji said gently.

“I know,” Zenyatta said. He took a deep breath… 

Zenyatta rubbed his thumbs over the hands in his, pondered on the contrasting colours. Genji had such delicate fingers; they must have come to life out of a renaissance painting. Meanwhile Zenyatta had longer, thicker fingers. They were covered in calluses from all of the stage fighting with his staff and from helping move scenery during scene changes. Hands made for hard work, hands made for labour. Looking at them hold Genji’s aristocratic hands, he was hit with how different they were. Not just contrast in colour, but also in shape and softness.

He softly pressed his thumbs into the soft flesh in his hands… and let go of the deep breath.

“Genji,” he said. “I like you... more than a friend. I think I may have for a long time now. I have been afraid to tell you my feelings because I did not want to change our friendship. More than anything else, I cherish you and what we have. Even if I were to not love you as something more, I would always love you as a friend first and foremost.”

Memories washed over Zenyatta in waves-- but only of small things. Genji sitting on his couch (if it could be called a couch at all, since it was in reality a loveseat). The couch which he had helped Zenyatta move into the building after finding it during spring cleaning. Genji flopped over the cushions with a rag on his sweaty forehead, breathing hard and smiling, peeking at Zenyatta from the side and showing his teeth.

“I… was not entirely truthful about my opinion of my admirer. I do not care about them. I never have. From the very first flower I received I felt nothing towards this stranger. Why would I care about someone I did not know anything about, when my best friend whom I loved was right in front of me? I was tempted-- I wanted to discourage the presents so that the rest of the cast would not feel like they were not as loved-- but there was a tiny hope that nagged at me. The hope that this ‘secret admirer’ was you... I am a very selfish man, Genji… as long as the smallest possibility that it was you existed, I would not refuse the flowers.”

If he pondered it now… there were many clues that Zenyatta had refused to see. Did not want to see-- just in case it was not true. The gifts only appearing in the middle of rehearsals, when Genji would have arrived. There was no one watching him, no one to think him suspicious. The crew would let him backstage without a second guess. 

_(‘Hey, what do you think about them? These gifts, I mean.’)_

“I… hope that you may feel the same about me. If you do not, then think nothing of this. I will not bring it up again, and you may feel free to forget--”

“No!” Genji blurted out, yanking Zenyatta’s hands towards him. “I mean--! No, no I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want you to not bring it up again. I want the opposite. I want you to _keep_ bringing it up… because I love you too. Maybe even for longer. Even before we were friends I was a huge fan of you, you’re just so beautiful up there… and the way you move…” Genji trailed off-- but quickly regained his determination. His grip on Zenyatta’s hands was almost tight enough to hurt as he held them to his chest-- as if Zenyatta would flee if he thought of letting go.

“You’re so kind… sometimes I wonder if you really exist. Like maybe you’re some kind of fever dream-- some kind of vision from heaven, because someone like you just can’t be real. If you were real, then the entire world would be tripping over their own feet in the hope for a single glance. If you were real it might be the end of the world, because I’m pretty sure angels come down from heaven only when shit is getting super bad.”

Genji’s strong gaze wavered and in a sudden urge of nervousness he broke their eye contact. Instead he stared at their entwined hands, as if they held all of the answers in the world.

“But I’m glad you’re real. Every morning I wake up and my first thought is of how thankful I am of you. For your friendship, for your affection, for your existence. If I had less impulse control I would text you the second I wake just to make I wasn’t living a dream.”

Genji let out a shaky breath. His face was deep pink from both embarrassment and adrenaline.

“I needed to tell you how I felt... it was eating away inside me everyday. Even if I was a coward and just left flowers and chocolates for you anonymously, I needed you to know how much I love you. So, please--”

Zenyatta could hold himself back no longer. As if possessed, he lunged forwards and planted his lips on Genji’s. Genji’s eyes were wide open with surprise while Zenyatta’s were clenched closed-- it made Genji relax and smile into the kiss. Soon he was returning it, their hands wandering each other like astronauts discovering a new planet, mapping out each others curves and edges.

They pulled back at the same time. Zenyatta let his eyes relax and open slowly, the dressing room lights casting Genji in a halo-- and he snorted loudly. 

“What? Was it that bad?” Genji asked.

“No, no,” Zenyatta giggled. “You just-- My makeup looks very good on you.”

Genji turned to look in the mirror and grinned a cheshire cat grin, his body thrumming with life as he stared at the red paint smeared on his lips. He whipped back around and grabbed Zenyatta by the waist, laughing as he spun them around. 

“You have more than red paint on you,” Genji smiled.

And Zenyatta smiled back. “Then I suppose we have a lot of work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, check out some of my other works or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/chohouse)/[tumblr.](http://chohouse.tumblr.com/)


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